


for sure definitely without a doubt

by wtfmulder



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-03
Updated: 2017-04-03
Packaged: 2018-10-14 09:34:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10533753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wtfmulder/pseuds/wtfmulder
Summary: standalone; nc-17; smut and fluff; post-Millenium first time; Scully’s need for proof has Mulder scrambling to provide it. The prompt: “can you write something about M talking S through her orgasm in the early days of MSR?″





	

Perhaps he’d thought himself slick, suggesting, quite casually, with his good arm slung tight over her shoulders, that she spend the night, keep an eye on him in his time of need. It turns out he’s carried a horrible fear of the walking dead since he was a young boy. Funny how he’s only afraid of something when he’s trying to get laid.

She agrees to it although he’s as clear as rice paper; he normally hates her coddling, spends half the time trying to swat her away. But sometimes when she closes her eyes, chunks of her brain are sticking in the pulsing maw of another human being. She thinks to herself, it’s not a bad idea. Not at all.  
  
It’s not that she isn’t stewing in possibility, the headrush of a sweet, simple moment – a kiss, awkward and kind of lifeless, but. A _kiss_. And his face, immediately after; she’d never seen that look before, awed and a little proud. So pleased with himself for taking the plunge, and how surprised she’d been he’d actually done it. Yes, she definitely sees the possibility.

But not tonight.  
  
She’d suspected in in the hospital, his dazed little smile and gentle swaying. When he starts playing with her fingers in the car and grinning with his teeth, she knows it to be true. Mulder is high.  
  
Not a lot high, but not a little, either. She’s not sure how he managed it for such a simple injury and she hadn’t gotten a good look at his charts, but the drug industry and the paychecks of well-established doctors go hand in hand these days. They probably just pumped him full of something to shut him up and bill him for the trouble. God knows she’s considered it. Right as she thinks this he laces their fingers together, her right with his uninjured left, her own left on the steering wheel, and she feels a tad guilty. Oh, Mulder. It’s never right for us, is it?

In his apartment he tries out his version of laying it on thick, mostly touching her hair and making dirty jokes until she’s got him out of his sling and carefully arranged on the bed. The mirrors give her a pause – he looks faintly embarrassed when she notices.

“I got rid of the leopard print bedclothes,” he tells her seriously. She doesn’t know what the hell he’s talking about, affects a patient smile and goes about tucking him in. “Wait!” He grabs at her wrist before she can lift the (not-leopard-print) duvet and eyes her oddly. “What are you doing, Scully?”  
  
It’s hard to tuck a person in when they’re trying to pull you in bed with them, landing soft kisses on your eyebrow and babbling something about it’s new year, new me Scully. His left arm is flexible and agile as a whip and she’s reminded of teenage boys with a million hands in the backs of their daddies’ pick up trucks. She shakes him off, annoyed, and he finally stops when she sits down next to him and takes his face in her hands.   
  
“Mulder,” she says gently, thumbing a spot under his pouting bottom lip. He already looks pissed off. “It’s late. We’re tired. We’ve both been attacked by what you allege to be the harbingers of the apocalypse. Most importantly, you have a habit of getting all mushy on me when you’re flooded to the gills with opioids.” She pats his cheek, and he looks like he’s going to kill her – which gives her interesting insight into their prospective sex life. Is this because she still doesn’t believe in zombies? He’ll have to deal with it, she can’t just change her beliefs because they’re doing weird things like kissing and holding hands –

“If you don’t want this, be upfront with me Scully. But _do no_ t patronize me with lame excuses.” He shifts to move away from her but his dramatic exit puts weight on his injury. “Shit,” he hisses pitifully, curling into himself.   
  
“Mulder,” she says assertively. He tries to flee from her grasp and glares at her hand wrapping around his bicep. “Mulder, look at me.” Mulder does not look at her. “Fine,” she sighs loudly, standing up. She rubs a little soothing circle on his shoulder and picks up her overnight back from the floor.  
  
Before she enters his bathroom she turns to face him once more. “I’ll be on the couch tonight. Try and get some rest. If you wake up in the morning and you still want…” Me. Us. What the hell are we doing? He said this. “This. If you still want this, maybe we can work something out.”  
  
She shuts the door behind her without looking at his face. It is hardset, singularly focused, and he wears it to sleep.

***

In the morning she wakes with a start, realizes under the blue light of dawn it’s a bit early to be awake on a holiday, even for her. This happens a lot when she’s sleeping away from home…  
  
Or maybe it’s just the man staring intently at her from the other end of the couch. Upon noticing her opening eyes he immediately plucks a mug from the coffee table and pushes it into her hands. It’s lukewarm, hazarding cool, but it’s made exactly to her liking and she hums very gratefully into the drink.   
  
Two-thirds of the way down and she pulls away to tell him thank you, ask him how his arm is doing. He ignores her with a sharp nod, grabs the cup from her hands and places it back on the table.  
  
Leaning over her blanketed knees pulled tight to her chest, he kisses her. It in no way resembles yesterday’s kiss – he’s got her bent over the armrest, legs spread to accommodate his body before she’s even registered what’s happening. When her wits return to her, she’s kissing back eagerly, and her wits leave again with astounding quickness.

I want this, he mumbles with his nose nudging the apple of her cheek. She believes him.   
  
***   
  
It ends up being the nicest morning-after experience she’s ever had, with the addendum they never even had the night. But maybe they did. Maybe the emotional energy they had exerted during one sexless kiss has left them a strange sort of sated, comfortable with each other in a way they’ve never felt previously. Morning-after comfortable, him kissing her before she’s had the chance to brush her teeth. Her swatting him away and forcing him to let her do it.   
  
That, and he’d put his sling on the wrong way. “I tried to cut through all the preliminaries,” he tells her impatiently as she’s getting him all put back together. “The minor impediments. The cockblocks. _C’mon_ Scully, my arm isn’t going to fall off.”   
  
“Did you think about breakfast?” She asks him, chin tucked to her chest as she rubs his pecs teasingly through his shirt. It hits her how… very bad she wants to see them, sans the shirt. She looks up at him through naked lashes and pouts a little. “Bagels?”  
  
“I can’t believe you just flirted with me,” he huffs, a little surprised. “I thought you were always kind of flirting with me. Is this how you flirt?”  
  
“I never flirted with you.”   
  
“What was all that with the insults and the eye rolling then? I thought you were pulling my pony-tail.” She stops petting him for a second, pretends to consider.  
  
“You’re going to hate how I treat Skinner, then.”

He mock-growls, kisses the laughter out of her.

***

He does make her bagels, even though he’s kind of shocked he has them. After he’s fed her he has her up on the counter, leaning back against the cupboards.

Conversation. About – stuff. Important things, because they’ve never been said before. All of the movies he’s going to make her watch because he’s sick of her not getting his references. All of the houseplants she’s killed since she started working in the basement.   
  
“I’ve never killed a single fish,” he tells her proudly. Because I’m constantly feeding them, she says. Or one of your informants is. That’s how I met my ex-boyfriend.

Important things, because when she’s distracted he’ll take the chance to undo one of her buttons. Before long they’re talking about how that sick day she took in 1997 was really just her excuse to go to Lilith Fair, and her breasts are hanging out, the hard, coral nipples pointing at him enticingly, making his mouth water. He wonders if she notices.   
  
“Why didn’t you just take a vacation day? I was worried sick,” he says to her tits. She rolls her eyes and straightens her back. The effect is marvelous.  
  
“Then everyone would ask me where I was going and I didn’t want to explain.”   
  
“You were smoking weed and kissing ladies,” he says, pressing a kiss to her temple. She nods against his mouth.   
  
“You’re not slick,” she tells him finally. “Just touch me.”   
  
He does. It’s frustrating – one hand, when there’s so much of her. So little of her when he needs there to be more. But he takes it slowly, cupping one small breast in the palm of his hand and kneading it, before switching to the other.   
  
They kiss and touch tongues and pull each other closer, mindful to keep his arm off to the side. She helps him out, pushes her breasts together so he can feel them both at once and wonder at their softness and fantasize about the day he’d get to use both hands.   
  
His tongue sweeps over her collarbone and his hand trails down to cup her mound without any warning. “I want this,” he says softly. She doesn’t need any more convincing, spreads her legs to encourage his searching fingers. His knuckles slide over the slippery fabric, pressing in deep every time she makes a noise or shifts her hips. Over her legs, her sides of her breasts, the sensitive skin on the backs of her arms, the silk feels amazing. Between her legs it only makes her crazy. She unbuttons the last two buttons of her top and it slips down her shoulders. His mouth descends on her, sucking at the peaks of her breasts and teasing her nipples with the tip of his tongue.

“You’re too smart, Scully, to think that I wouldn’t,” he breathes into her skin. “How long have you known?” Forever and only a minute. He bites her when she doesn’t answer, and his head moves with her sharp intake of breath.   
  
Then he’s telling her to lift up, helping her hop off the counter to stand up. She wrangles with the waistband of her pajamas and her panties, kicking them off her legs when they bunch up around her ankles. He pins her with his body, and he asks her again. She doesn’t know what to say.

“I think,” he starts and stops immediately, a contemplative look overtaking his face. He’s looking into her eyes, not between her legs, but his hand goes there immediately to play with her wetness, rub it into her skin and through her folds. “I knew when I met you. How much I was going to ask from you.” And like a secret, like a conspirator, he leans in and says: “How much you were going to give me.” His words are hot on her neck, and he follows them with his tongue, and while his thumb brushes over her clit he moans in her ear, Everything. I want to give you everything. 

He still hasn’t looked away from her eyes. It’s almost kind of nerve wracking – she feels more naked this way, a little more embarrassed. Does he not want to? There’s tension building in her shoulders, he eases it by slipping a finger inside of her.  
  
“If I look I’m afraid I’ll come,” he says, like he’s reading her mind. He probably is. She shivers at the words and suddenly wants it to be so. She tilts her hips forward, pushes her breasts out like she’s preening with her head tossed back and her legs spread wide. He tsks at her, pushes another finger in, of course, he’s always looked at things with his hands. His hand. How is he doing this with just one hand? “Evil. You are _evil._ ” She licks her lips and sticks out her chin, and he groans loudly when her pussy clenches around his fingers.

“How much of folklore warns us about avoiding the temptation of sight? All regions of the world.” She thinks it’s rhetorical. She responds to it like it is, but he continues talking. “I think you’re going to kill me one day, Scully. I think I’m going to look at you and I’m going to die.”

“But what a way to go,” she giggles breathlessly, reaching up to palm her breasts. She tweaks her nipples between her fingers and arches back at the rush it gives her. Look, Mulder. Both hands. Look, Mulder. He doesn’t, or maybe he does.

“Prove me wrong,” he goads her. Three fingers, the heel of his hand grinding against her clit, and she’s writhing, wiggling desperately out of his hold to keep them inside of her. With her movements she encounters the ridge of his cock pressed into her thigh, and he pins her to him even closer and something like laughter tears from his throat. “Yeah, _like that_. Prove me wrong. Tell me I don’t want this. Keep moving. Oh, _fuck_. I can’t look. I can’t look. Wanna look. Tell me _I don’t fucking want this_. Always - got - to - be - fucking - right - you aren’t - you aren’t - come, I want you to, _come_ , wanna see it, got to see it. I said fucki – oh, Scully, _yes_ , you’re so – fuck my fingers, like that, you’re coming, I can see it, please…”  
  
***  
  
Happy new year to me, he says while he’s halfway inside of her. If he’d said it before she started she might’ve left him there. If he’d said it while all the way in she might’ve slipped him out and ran. As it is he is partway inside of her, and the temptation to finish the job is just too great. She rolls her eyes at him, pinches his nipple. A few more inches and their hips are flush, and she is in heaven, and he is finally speechless.

The position is quality for a lot of reasons – namely that yes, females are superior – but his injury doesn’t allow for anything else, and finally, finally he can let himself look. He does. It’s just as bad as he told her, maybe even a little worse, but it’s so worth it. All the parts of her that have been slowly, carefully offered to him over the years now come together and rise over him, and envelop him, and promise to keep him safe.   
  
Scully had seen things a little differently – this streak of defiance is what defines their relationship, after all, it wouldn’t have been _them_ if she hadn’t been so keen on looking, on looking at his body all over, mapping it with her eyes and her hands and her tongue like she needed the cartography to help her out later. She probably does – his abs and the wiry muscles of his arms are long, complicated things, a confounding puzzle she plans to solve with only her mouth. And upon committing him to memory she is reminded that Fox Mulder is built to do a lot of things; run long distances, shoot a ball into a hoop, fuck her bent in half over their desk in the Hoover building, save the day again and again and again. But most importantly he is built to be with her in any and all capacity, here and elsewhere, especially here on his couch. She asked, not him. She needs to work her way up to the mirror.   
  
She rides him slowly and makes a face every time he rocks his hips to meet her, tortured and sexy – he does not miss a single time she does it, watches very closely in between staring at where they’re joined, the root of his dick shining with her juices, the way her labia cling to him on the upstroke. Her clitoris, candy red and peaking out to say hello… “I’d offer,” he gasps, entering that sweet spot between good exercise and an asthmatic attack. “But I’m uh. Touch yourself? Please? I’ll tell you h-how.” He swallows and finds a white spot to stare at on the wall for a moment. “How I’d do it.”

A hell of a thing to ask during the first time, she thinks, but he’d been right. How much he’d ask of her, how much she’d go through with. She gently touches her fingers to his cock where it’s pushing in and out of her just to hear him howl, and then she drags them back up dig roughly into her clitoris.   
  
“ _Jesus_ Scully, _no_ , not so hard.“ She’s going to come, she’s going to come all over him and it’s going to be over for him after that. She’s already tightening around him and he knows he’s going to shoot her through the roof. “Not at first. Slow.” He brings his hand up to guide hers, easing her touch and letting it fall back to brace himself as he watches her. “I’d do. Scully. Oh my god.”  
  
It’s like that for some time, him telling her what to do and her following. She knows her own body better him, of course she does, but following his instructions make it feel more real. “Okay, I’d do it harder now. Wanna hear that noise again. M-make it wet, lick your – I. Oh. Oh _fuck._ ” She does, throws her head back and cries out, and that’s what does it for the both of them. She tumbles first, clutching his hair in her fists and fucking him for all he’s worth. There’s nowhere for him to go but down after that, especially as she’d been so accommodating to perform that little routine for him twice, and so he spills into her as she pulls him deeper inside.  
  
***  
  
She tucks them both into bed after fixing his sling one more time (perhaps it’d gotten a little out of place, perhaps it’s been awhile since she’s had a living patient, perhaps people should _mind their own business_ ) and he promises to stop making puns long enough for them to fall asleep.

But something presses on him, something that made him mad the day before but now just baffles him. “Scully. Hey.”  
  
“What.” She mutters into her pillow. Not a talker. Okay.  
  
“Did you say I was drugged yesterday? On painkillers?”  
  
“Yes. You were.” Mumble mumble mumble.  
  
“No I wasn’t! They only gave me tylenol.”   
  
A moment of silence, before she rolls over to face him. She physically moves her body to look him in the face as she roll her eyes. “Mulder. No. You were out of it.”   
  
“Out of it how? I was perfectly aware of my surroundings. The pain wasn’t even that bad.”  
  
“You’re a baby. All pain is bad. And you were… acting all loopy. You kept making weird faces and grabbing my hands. You were high, Mulder.”   
  
Another moment of silence, and he makes that dumb face again, the one with the teeth. She’s seen more of his teeth the past two days than she’s seen the entire time she’s known him. “Scully.”   
  
“Go to sleep.”  
  
“Scully, I think I was just happy. I wasn’t drugged.”   
  
She doesn’t lift her head from the pillow, but she does seek out his good hand with hers.


End file.
